A Man Forsaken
by Paige Hansen
Summary: A story of Fergus Cousland's life between leaving Highever and reuniting with his sister Saraya. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**__ I couldn't help but write a story that was all about Fergus Cousland. It's not going to be an overly long one, but I had to write something about what happened to him all that time that he was gone. I really hope you guys enjoy it, and as always, I appreciate your feedback._

He was nervous. He was eager to be on the road with his father, but it didn't help that he was so nervous. He paced around his room for what felt like hours, trying to get himself packed and ready to go. They were leaving tonight, along with the Arl of Amaranthine, and riding to Ostagar to fight the most important battle that he had ever been a part of.

The last battle he remembered was one that nearly got him killed. He had left Highever for the Free Marches, helping to push back armies that attempted to attack the northern seaboard. An arrow had struck his armor and managed to pierce through to his chest leaving him gasping for air and desperate for help. Healing magic had helped him, but not enough that he was able to continue fighting, and he was sent home on the earliest ship back to Ferelden soil. He pulled down the collar of his cotton shirt, and touched a finger to the scar that remained years after. For a second he felt a chill run the length of his spine, and just as quickly, the feeling was gone, and he remembered how invigorating he had found that battle. Even more so, was the fact that this time, he would be fighting alongside his father.

He stopped for a moment and stood staring at the open satchel that lay on his bed. It was full. Near overflowing. Still, he was certain he had forgotten something. _Something is missing,_ he thought. _I know it._ He rubbed his face with a shaky hand, and turned, looking around the room only to laugh at himself. Before him, was an open armoire, and it was near empty. Everything but the colorful garments he wore around the estate and in the public was gone, stuffed almost recklessly into the bag he packed.

"Fergus?"

"Hm?" The woman's voice startled him, and he spun around to see his mother enter the room. She smiled warmly as she usually did, and it seemed to put him at ease. "Maker's breath, you scared me."

"Nan is preparing supper, dear," she said still smiling. "You will join us before you and your father leave?"

"Of course, Mother," he responded. He sounded almost breathless, and the look in his eye told his mother that something was amiss. She moved toward his bed, and gestured to him to sit with her.

"Fergus," she cooed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. He knew as well as she did that it was a lie, and he quickly forced himself to tell her the truth. "This is the first war I'll have fought in, in well over three years. And with Father at my side, no less. I know that I've trained, both with him and my sister... I just fear that I'll disappoint him. And nothing would shame me more than to see anything less than pride on his face, Mother."

"Your father is already proud of you, Fergus," she answered. "He always has been."

Fergus sighed. It had been his dream since he was a boy, to be as skilled a warrior as Bryce, and even now, a grown man, he wasn't sure he came close to measuring up to the man's expectations. He felt his mother wrap an arm around his shoulders, and he welcomed the hug she offered.

"Now," she said, pulling herself back to her feet. "Finish getting ready. I am off to spend a bit of time with Lady Landra and her son, and I shall see you at dinner. I love you, Fergus."

"I love you too, Mother," he answered. He watched her leave the room and when she was gone, he began to dress himself in the veridium armor proudly given to him by his father some months before.

.

.

"Is there really going to be a war, papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Little Oren looked to his father, and Fergus could see himself in the boy's excitement and wonder.

"That's **sword**, Oren." Fergus said with a laugh, as he knelt to meet his son's gaze. "And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"I wish victory was indeed so certain." Oriana looked distressed, her voice showing less faith than the woman herself possessed. "My heart is... disquiet."

"Don't frighten the boy, love. I speak the truth." Fergus told her, doing his best to reassure her, even though he himself knew little of how the war was going to end. He turned to see his sister shyly entering the room, her head hanging sadly. "And here's my little sister to see me off."

"I wish I didn't have to," she answered quietly. "I wish I could go with you."

"I wish you could too," Fergus said sadly. "It'd be fun, fighting side by side... Maybe next time."

"Hey, did you know there was a Grey Warden in the castle?" Saraya asked.

"I did," Fergus answered, his brow raised. "Did you happen to find out why he's here?"

"He says he's recruiting," she said. "He wants to test Ser Gilmore."

"Really? Well, sister, if I were a Grey Warden, I'd have my eye on you," he said firmly. "Though, you and I both know, Father would never allow that."

"You know," Oriana interrupted. "In Antiva, a woman fighting in battle would be... unthinkable."

"Yes well, this isn't Antiva," Saraya answered, more harshly than she meant to. "Besides, if it were so unthinkable here, Father never would have trained me in the first place."

"Alright, alright." Fergus loved seeing his wife and sister debate, but now was not the time, and he forced himself to intervene. "Where is Father anyway, Sister?"

"Oh," Saraya said quickly. "He told me to tell you to go on to Ostagar ahead of him. Howe's men are running behind."

"They **are** delayed? You'd swear they were all walking backwards," Fergus answered with a sigh. "I guess this is it then. I'll miss you, sister."

"And I you, Fergus. Please, for Andraste's sake, be careful out there."

"I'll be fine," he said confidently. "Take care of everyone, and be here when I get back."

"Just make sure you get back."

Saraya wrapped her arms tight around her older brother, and had to force herself to let him go. Their mother and father walked into the room as she said her final good-byes, and she did her best to hold back tears, refusing to let anyone in the room see her cry. Fergus knew though, that she wasn't as strong as she liked to pretend, and her sadness broke his heart.

"She's not handling this very well," he said to his father. "She really wanted to come, you know."

"I know," Bryce answered quietly. "But her place right now, is here. And her work here is just as important as what we have to do."

"You think she can handle running the castle by herself? You're leaving soon too, aren't you, Mother?"

"In a few days, yes," Eleanor answered. "But she'll be fine while I'm gone. It's you in this war that I'm more worried about, Fergus. I will be praying for your safety every day that you're gone."

"I'll be fine, Mother," Fergus said, forcing a laugh. "I can handle a few darkspawn. I'm sure I'll freeze to death in the rain before I'm bested by those beasts."

"Well, how comforting it is to hear you say that," Oriana said dryly.

Fergus turned and kissed his wife on the head before lifting Oren into his arms and hugging him tight. "Take care of your mother and auntie while I'm gone."

Before he left, Oriana bowed her head and prayed. "The Maker sustain and preserve us. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us."

**.**

**.**

"How far behind are they, then?"

"I don't know," Fergus answered. "A day or two at least? Nothing like being on time, right?"

"I think it's nonsense," replied one of the young soldiers riding with him. "The king ordered us to be there, and I'm willing to wager my last coin that he's going to be madder than a genlock riding a rainbow when we arrive without Howe... or your father."

"I've got no argument there," Fergus said. "They should be on their way soon enough though. And you'd better believe I'll have a few words for the Arl when I see him again."

Traveling with Fergus were several of his father's own men, a couple of mages from the Circle who had been working under Teryn Cousland for the past while, and a few other men who had taken up arms with them on the road. They had traveled for nearly a full day, and still had another day or so to go before reaching Ostagar. Fergus couldn't help but notice that one of the mages was not only quiet, but looked rather ill.

"You there," Fergus said, looking back at the mage. "Are you going to make it alright? You don't look well."

"He's nervous, ser," another mage answered for him. She was an older woman, and had seemed to take the younger lad under her wing during the trip. "He's never been to war, and his nerves are making him ill, I think."

"I know the feeling, then," Fergus said, showing sympathy, while at the same time trying to keep up morale amongst the people he rode with. "Trust me, it may frighten you now, but once we get out there, that fear will turn into excitement. You'll forget about how scared you are in no time, I promise. In the meantime, why don't you take a horse?"

Fergus waited a moment for someone to offer up their horse for the young mage, but no one did. He assumed it was because most were uncomfortable traveling with mages, but at the same time, he scoffed at them for their lack of consideration.

"Here," he said, pulling the reigns of his own horse tight, and bringing the pally to a stop. "Take mine."

"R-Really, ser?" The young man seemed amazed that anyone would show him compassion, especially being part of a lesser appreciated group of people. "You're... certain? W-What if you get tired yourself?"

"Would I offer it otherwise?" Fergus asked with a grin. "Come on. Get off of your feet for a while, and try to relax. If I get tired, I'll just hop in the wagon there and rest."

"Thank you, ser!"

Fergus smiled at the boy as he mounted the horse, obviously happy to be seated for a change after walking all day. He felt good himself, being able to get off the damned mare. Her slow and steady trot, combined with the constant bounce upon her saddle had made him sore, and he had started to yearn for the ground to be beneath his feet.

.

.

They had traveled for two and a half days so far, and the third day almost seemed to fly by as they continued on. Most of the people traveling with Fergus had never been so far from home, and he could see that some of them were beginning to miss the places they were from as they passed through towns on their way to Ostagar.

Half way through their third day, they had almost finished passing through the Hinterlands and many looked on in marvel at the Frostback Mountains off in the distance. They were close enough to the mountain ridge that the ground beneath them was solid, but still far enough away that they didn't have to stretch their necks to see the mountain peaks. The forest that surrounded them was filled with life, and several soldiers began to whistle, singing back to the birds that seemed to greet them.

The sun seemed to beam down encouragingly, almost as an omen that this war was in fact going to go better than they had planned, and it had everyone in high spirits, including the young mage that Fergus had given his horse to.

Fergus thought about many things that day. Oriana and Oren were frequently on his mind, and he wondered how they were doing. By now, his sister had taken over Castle Cousland, and his father would be well on his way to joining everyone at Ostagar. Deep in the shadows of his mind however, the coming battle seemed to haunt him. He feared that things might not go as well as they hoped, but he forced the thoughts aside, refusing to believe that anything would happen that they couldn't handle.

"Another hour or so," a soldier called to him. "Not long now, I reckon."

"Good," Fergus replied. He smiled, mostly for the purposes of keeping everyone content and confident, and partly because he was thrilled that he would soon be in battle. He was raised a warrior's son, and he enjoyed being out in the field almost as much as he enjoyed being with his family.

He began to smile even more as the towers at Ostagar finally began to come into his view. Several of the soldiers cheered, while some sighed in relief or contempt. Fergus could feel his heart begin to beat with excitement. More exciting was the anticipation of fighting along side his father, and putting and end to the blight before it even got started.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: ** I have an obsessive habit of making a personal save when my character reaches Ostagar... right before meeting Alistair in fact. So for this chapter, I took advantage of that, and wandered around the encampment for a while, taking notes on some of the things seen there, simply so I could get this chapter as detailed as I could, as well as accurate. Hope you guys enjoy it! xox_

.

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The fortress of Ostagar was massive. The stone towers reached so high, that it was difficult for one to tell where they ended and the Heavens began. Fergus had heard stories of Ostagar's history and grandeur, and while the history lessons were correct, the tales he had heard much of his life didn't compare to what he was seeing now. As he crossed a large stone bridge to put together a group of men to accompany him on his mission, he took every opportunity to marvel at the sight of the enormous battle field, and the architecture around him. There were obvious signs of wear, and he gave a wide girth to a dangerous hole to his left as he reached the other side of the bridge.

Ostagar had long ago been used by the Tevinter Imperium to fend off armies of barbarians and Wilders who tried to invade the lowlands, and more recently, hordes of darkspawn that made their way from the Wilds to form attacks on Ferelden soil. Fergus assumed, looking at the damage around him, that the injuries to the fortress had to be no less than at least three centuries old, and it amazed him that the place was still standing after so much carnage.

As he entered the large encampment, he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from expressing his awe out loud. Brightly colored tents near the center of the camp caught his attention, and he recognized the first immediately. Surrounded by a high wooden fence, was a gold tent, manned by one guard who wore armor even finer than Fergus' own father ever did. Protruding high from the fence were flags bearing the royal crest. Fergus knew without a doubt, that this was Cailan's place in the camp. Several yards away was another striking tent, though larger, which he found odd. The green and orange tent he now looked at was tall, standing at least fifteen feet high at its peak, and was very elaborate. Upon taking a closer look at the guard outside, and recognizing the armor he wore, it became obvious that he knew the man inside; Teryn Loghain. Fergus admired the teryn, and during his history lessons as a boy, he came to learn the many things that Loghain had done to help King Maric reclaim and reunite Ferelden. Teryn Loghain was a hero to Ferelden, having helped to free her people from the Orlesian empire, and was well known to the Couslands at the landsmeet in Denerim.

Next to the tents, closer to the middle of the camp, was a circle of high standing marble pillars, each bearing a statue of a woman resembling the prophet Andraste. The pillars surrounded a large, blazing fire, and he enjoyed the warmth that came from the flames.

"Oh, I wish you could see this Oren," he said to himself.

Just to the south of Loghain's tent, Fergus could see a training area, and as he approached, he heard a loud voice explaining to a group of soldiers the monsters they would face, and the dangers of touching darkspawn blood, while using a rather foul smelling genlock corpse as a prop in this lesson. The smell and sight of the beast lying on the stone before him, even at such a distance, made his stomach turn, and he hurried to get away from there. He knew he would have to face these things more than once over the next while, but he'd rather be in such a state of mind that he wouldn't notice the sickening stench of the creatures.

He headed north a ways, and stopped for a moment near a small congregation of soldiers and joined them in listening to the Chant of Light be ministered by a young cleric standing on a high wooden platform. The Chant was meant to bring hope to the weary, and though he felt fine, the words echoing throughout the encampment soothed him, as he prepared himself inside for the things he knew he would be facing here.

Just beyond where he stood listening to the Chant, another tent stood, this one no less than the size of both Loghain and Cailan's tents put together. A nearby sign read _"Magi Encampment"_, and the entrance to the area was guarded by Templars. Fergus knew better than to approach them, and kept his distance while sating his curiosity by looking past them into the area. A series of lights swirled around several people in colorful robes. He wasn't sure what the mages were doing, but the sight amazed him, and he stood in complete awe for a moment.

"Fergus!" A man's voice broke him from his musing, and he looked to see one of his father's soldiers, walking toward him with a beaming smile.

"Ser Vandorn," Fergus answered, reciprocating the smile. "If you're looking for my father, I'm afraid he won't be here until tomorrow."

"So I overheard," Vandorn replied sadly. "I've been here a week without Cousland company already, I suppose I can last another day."

"I was wondering where you had gone," Fergus told him, sounding concerned. "I didn't think Father would have sent anyone ahead so soon."

"Well, apparently it was Loghain's personal request that he send his best men ahead of schedule."

"Best men? Father must have been deep into his brandy that day," Fergus responded jokingly. The two laughed for a moment, before Fergus decided to pose a more serious question. "Listen," he said quietly. "King Cailan wants me to gather a group of people and do some scouting in the Wilds... You wouldn't happen to be interested in accompanying us, would you?"

"Sure thing, lad. I've not been doing much more than running errands for the teryn the last few days, a change of pace would be great. Just give me a moment to get my sword back from the smith, and I'll join you at the gate." Ser Vandorn nodded at Fergus, and continued on his way.

In the meantime, Fergus walked about the camp looking for members of the party that had traveled with him from Highever, to seek their help in scouting, and checking out the many other things around the camp. He managed to rally the young mage with no problem. The boy had been separated from everyone else, and left lost, and Fergus' appearance gave him much more comfort than Fergus could know. Everyone else was busy hiding somewhere in the camp, or pretending to be busy with other things, and so Fergus and the young mage headed to the western gate to meet Ser Vandorn, who had found another companion to go with them.

"Ah," Fergus said, relieved to see another man join their party. "I had feared for a moment that there would only be the three of us. If my father were here, however... we'd have more than enough men eager to go, rather than shirking their duties somewhere I can't find them."

"Less favor from the king for them, then." Ser Vandorn gestured to his companion. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Fergus. This is Ser Candrien of Amaranthine. Candrien, this is Bryce's eldest, and only son."

"Bryce Cousland?" Candrien asked. He took Fergus' hand in his own and shook it firmly. "It is indeed an honor to meet you. If you've taken after your father at all, I imagine you're well on your way to becoming a well respected young man."

"Thank you, ser," Fergus answered humbly. "Quite the shoes to fill though, I assure you."

"I can imagine," Ser Vandorn said. "At any rate, I think it's about time we got started, yes? We should get this done before nightfall. The king is expecting a battle tomorrow, and we wouldn't want to miss that, now would we?"

.

.

The Korcari Wilds were cold and unforgiving. The sun did not shine, and the wind did not blow. The rain however, fell, much like Fergus had expected, and even worse than the rain, was the saddening fact that there was no place nearby for shelter that they could see. Most, if not all of the trees were covered in moss, much the same as the ground beneath their feet, and with every step they took, the ground spoke to them with a squish, as though they were simply walking through a wide, shallow puddle of cold water.

Neither of the men were sure of how deep into the woods they were supposed to go, but they had been gone for well over an hour, and the chill was beginning to set in. They had already stopped twice to change socks, and even wore an extra pair to keep the dampness out. The young mage wasn't faring well, and though he did his best not to complain, he had started to slow with the aching in his toes.

As they moved even deeper into the Wilds, the mist that they had originally walked into began to turn into a thick fog, and their viewing distance was shrinking quickly. The mossy trees were no longer sparse either, and though it made moving more difficult, it blocked most of the rain, allowing the men to find a dry place to rest upon a large fallen log, that to their surprise was almost bare. The mage was first to remove his boots and socks, and lay them next to himself, allowing them to dry as much as possible before they continued further. Ser Vandorn offered him a pair of his own, and the mage happily took them, pulling them onto his feet quickly to keep warm.

Fergus was the first to step off the fallen tree and after adjusting his armor, he peered around, trying to make out their surroundings. The fog was still heavy around them, and it was too hard to see more than several yards in any direction. Wolves could be heard in the distance, and it was apparent to him that it was starting to get late.

"I think it's about time we head back," he warned. "There's no sign of any darkspawn out here, and I don't want us to be out here when night falls."

"You make that sound a bit too ominous," the mage said, his voice trembling from the cold, and his surfacing nerves. "What exactly happens at night?"

"You've not heard tales of the Wilds, man?" Ser Candrien looked at the young man who shook his head, and felt sorry for him for being so uneducated. "The Wilds are home to the Chasind barbarians, and there are even tales of a Witch of the Wilds roaming about here, bewitching men, bedding them and killing them when she's had her fill."

The mage seemed to tremble, though it very well could have been the cold. Fergus remembered well the stories he had heard all his life, most of them scaring him to the point that he couldn't sleep at night for fear of the things he was told. The Korcari Wilds were well known for the inhabitants. Most common were the Chasind; uncivilized and violent folk, who would not hesitate to kill even a youngster who might wander too far into the woods. Tales were told of men going into the Wilds and getting lost in the fog, never finding their way out. Some of these stories spun rumors that the men had been taken captive by the Chasind and killed for sport. Other rumors circulated that cannibals roamed the woods.

The most frightening story Fergus remembered was the story his mother had told him of the Witch of the Wilds. A woman who dwelt deep in the wilds, in an old hut, luring men to her quarters, seducing them and killing them for the sheer pleasure it brought her. There was even tell that she would come out of the woods at night and snatch bad children from their beds, never to be seen again.

Thinking of these things made Fergus shudder, and his stomach felt heavy. If there was one thing he wanted more than to be warmed by a fire, it was to be out of the Wilds, and away from the danger that lurked within.


	3. Chapter 3

The men all readied themselves to leave the Wilds and report back to King Cailan, who was certainly waiting eagerly to hear what they may have found. Fergus was personally disappointed that they had nothing to report, and hoped that the king himself would not be upset by the news. They slung their packs across their shoulders and took a moment to gain the will to tread back through the bog-like woods. Fergus was certain everyone would be relieved to return to camp. The first thing he planned to do when he returned, was fill his stomach with whatever food he could find. He didn't eat much on the way to Ostagar, and not at all since he had arrived.

After ensuring that everyone was ready to continue, the men left in the same direction they had come from. On they trudged through the same splashes and squishes they had listened to earlier. Their feet sank into the mossy ground, and the rain made them slip as they stepped, as though walking through half melted snow in the spring. It didn't feel quite as cold, but the chill was still there, still threatening to creep through their clothes and deep into their bones. Fergus led the way, his young Circle companion keeping close while the two elite soldiers stayed a small distance behind. A low, menacing growl came from ahead, and he stopped short in the mist, the others nearly running into his back.

"Did you hear that?" Fergus asked, looking to Ser Vandorn.

"I hear nothing, Ser," Vandorn replied. He had a puzzled look on his face as he tried to look around him, seeing little in the surrounding area. "Nor do I see anything. The mist here is too thick, I fear."

Fergus assured himself that he was only hearing things. The Wilds were notorious for making people lose their wits, often driving them to madness, resulting in fear and confusion, and he tried to shrug off the feeling as it started to wash over him. "Ready yourselves in any case," he warned in a low voice, unsheathing his sword.

The soldiers complied, and had their weapons at the ready. The mage looked frightened, but held his staff firmly in his hand, and walked much closer to Fergus than before. They seemed to walk without any distraction for about an hour, when something started to feel wrong.

"The fog," Fergus said. "Was it this heavy on our way in?"

"The rain is letting up," Candrien answered. "Perhaps it was just keeping the usual fog at bay?"

Fergus stopped again, raising his hand for the others to stop as well. Though the sun was trying to force its way through the dense clouds, it was not enough for him to find a single shadow showing them the direction they should travel in. A low rumble came through the mist again, and this time he wasn't the only one to hear it.

"A wolf, maybe?" The mage asked. "Or perhaps a bear? There are bears in the Wilds, yes?"

"I've never known a bear to growl like that," Vandorn said, a hint of worry in his words. "Wolves either."

"No," Fergus said. The fear that was piercing him was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He had been caught in the center of a circling pack of wolves once before, on a hunting expedition just outside of Amaranthine along the Hafter River. He remembered the sounds of their hungry growls, as he and Nathaniel Howe desperately hoped for their fathers to save them from what seemed like a certain death. He knew that they were not dealing with wolves now, and for a moment, that was even more frightening. "That was no beast... at least not one of the forest."

"Darkspawn then," Candrien said quietly.

"They could very well stalk us straight to the camp!" Vandorn whispered. "The fog is far too thick for us to see where they are, let alone just how many there are. Ah, this does not sit well with me at all, Fergus."

"Nor I," Fergus responded quietly. "Come on, men. Let's keep moving. Perhaps we can get out of this fog before they start to close in on us."

They continued to trek through the fog and thick air. The rain had finally let up fully, and the dampness was beginning to make them all feel as though they were sweating heavily under their armor. It was everything they could do to not strip down to their undergarments. The heat that rose through their bodies only increased the more they walked, and they were thankful for the skins of water they had remembered to bring along.

"How many scouting bands were being sent out, Fergus?" Vandorn asked.

"I saw at least two other groups of men entering the woods before you and I crossed paths," Fergus answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it might be a blessing to run into them." Vandorn removed the red steel glove he wore, and wiped beads of water from his brow. He was breathing hard, as were the others in the humid air that filled their lungs with little oxygen. He tried to force a smile when Fergus looked at him showing a great deal of concern, but the young lord saw past it and frowned. "We're lost, Fergus."

"Lo- What? No! No," Fergus argued. "We left our resting place heading back the way we found it. The camp can't be far now."

"Fergus, I'm telling you -"

"No." Fergus waved off the soldier's concerns, and began to walk again.

"Maker's breath, man!" Vandorn shouted. He placed a hard hand on Fergus' shoulder and pulled him around before pointing ahead of them. "Look, there."

_No. It can't be,_ Fergus thought to himself. His mind began to whirl, and the world around him seemed to spin as he looked where the soldier was directing his attention. Just in view through the mist and thick trees, he saw the same log they had found a couple of hours earlier. "We've gone in a complete circle? How can this be?"

"The Wilds are tricky that way," Candrien answered. "Very few men have made it out of the Wilds at all, let alone in one piece."

"That's... comforting," the mage said dryly.

"Mage," Fergus said, his face flushing in embarrassment. "What in Andraste's name is your name? I feel like a fool for having never asked."

"Corbin, ser." He smiled warmly as he answered. It didn't hide his nervousness though, which was made apparent as he tapped the butt of his staff on the ground beneath him. He cocked his head at Fergus who was eying the wooden tool. "Yes, ser?"

"How skilled is your magic?" Fergus asked. "I mean... what kind of magic do you work with?"

"Primal magic mostly," Corbin answered with a swift nod. He figured it best to elaborate when the others all looked at him in confusion. "Elemental magic. Frost, fire and lightning mostly. I also have some skill in healing, if it becomes necessary any of you need any. I'm not far out of my apprenticeship, sadly, or else I'd prove more useful to you."

"That's fine," Fergus said. "You've more than enough."

"You were given lyrium to bring with you, yes?" Candrien asked. "Your magic is useless if you can't cast anything."

"No," Corbin answered, seeing expressions of dismay form on their faces. He dug deep into his pack and pulled out several small pouches of red powder, and bottles filled with bright blue liquid, before smiling deviously. "But, I took some anyway. I'm not stupid. The old hag that came with us tried to keep all of it for herself when we left Highever. So I stole some when we were on the road."

"Smart lad," Fergus laughed as he looked around the area. "Alright, men. Looks like we're stuck in these Wilds until that fog clears, so we best set up a small camp here where there's at least some shelter. If those darkspawn decide to attack, we'll be ready for them."

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It was well into the night and Fergus stared into the burning embers left from the small fire they had started hours before, when they set themselves up for the night. To his surprise, the mage had taught himself the art of trap making, and had set a few spring traps around them in case the darkspawn that had been following them decided to infiltrate the small area. A fox had misstepped and triggered one of the traps, and they put it out of its misery, thanking the Maker for sending them something to eat at least.

As he sat there watching the embers burn out, he threw some dry bark on them allowing the fire to spark up once more, giving them some heat to last the next few hours. He stirred the fire a bit, watching small sparks fly up into the air, almost hypnotizing him. It was short lived however, when a loud crack in the woods behind him pulled him away from what he was doing, and he grabbed his sword. He gripped the hilt tight, and pulled his shield up from the ground and held it defensively. He nudged at Vandorn until he stirred and signaled in silence for the man to ready himself for the inevitable.

A growl from the other side, much louder than what they had heard earlier meant that they were surrounded yet again.

"Keep watch," Fergus whispered. "Make sure they don't move in. I'll wake the others."

Vandorn watched their surroundings, ready to attack anything that came too close, and Fergus pulled the others from their sleep, quietly informing them of the situation. Footsteps continued outside of the small camp, and it seemed their enemy was right on top of them. By the time everyone had made it to their feet and equipped their own weapons, the first of the brutes attacked, and Fergus turned to defend Vandorn who had been tackled to the ground. He kicked the beast, his steel boot causing enough pain that the genlock rose up from his victim to look at the place of impact. It gave Vandorn enough time to get back on his feet, and the two slashed away at the fiend until it was dead.

"Maker help me," Fergus said. "These beasts are stupid."

"Yes, well. No one... ever said they were intelligent creatures," Vandorn laughed, catching his breath.

One of the spring traps had been set off to their right, and Fergus began to move toward the sound when three more snapped off one right after the other. They heard no growling, and this worried Fergus.

"Alright," he said, hardly believing what was happening himself. He looked down at the trap that he moved to inspect. "Maybe they're not so stupid. There's nothing in this one."

"Nothing over here either!" Candrien shouted, pointing at another trap that had gone off. "You think they're-"

"Toying with us," Fergus said quietly. He snapped his head around looking for a sign of the next attack, but he was disappointed. Everything went quiet – quieter than he was used to out here – and he began to wonder if they had left, leaving a trail of silence behind them. This in no way meant he was ready to let his guard down however. If dueling his own sister had taught him anything, it was this: the enemy will always catch you at your lowest defense. It was a lesson he had learned well after seeing her fake injury and take him down when he went to apologize. "Let's try to stay alert until morning. When the fog clears, we'll make our way back to Ostagar, and get the hell out of this place."

"We'll be one man short, I'm afraid," Vandorn said regretfully. Fergus looked at him, his expression asking him what he meant. "Candrien... he's gone."

"Gone?" Fergus asked, his heart pounding erratically. "You mean dead?"

"Gone as in gone, Fergus," Vandorn snapped. "As in, no longer here. Those beady eyed bastards dragged him off into the night!"

"Maker watch over him."

"Maker watch- Fergus, we have to find him!" Vandorn stormed toward Fergus, dropping his sword and shield, and removing his gloves. Fergus turned to face him just in time to see a fist fly at his face, leaving him no time to move out of the way. Vandorn's knuckles collided hard with Fergus' jaw, sending him in a spin to the ground in a heap. For a moment, Vandorn thought he had knocked him unconscious, but Fergus slowly stood, his face red, and his jaw smeared with blood.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Vandorn," he growled. "Part of my father's garrison or not, so help me, I will strike you down where you stand."

Vandorn backed down, a fire blazing in his eyes. "He was my friend, Fergus. We can't just leave him with those- those monsters."

"And we can't just pick up and leave this spot in the middle of the night to look for a man who's probably already dead," Fergus argued. "We've already gotten ourselves lost in the middle of the day, and Andraste's sake, you want us to try again in the middle of the night? When we have no idea what might be lurking just beyond our camp here, and I'm not going to watch anyone go out there to die! I am... sorry, but I'll not risk everyone's lives for the sake of one that's already been lost. We stay put for the night, and leave again at dawn. By then, the fog should have settled, and we'll make our way out of this Maker forsaken marshland."

Angry and distraught at the loss of a good friend, Vandorn went to the center of the camp and dropped to the ground before the fire. He found a small, damp stick on the ground next to him, and began poking at the fire, staring deep into the small flames. Fergus would have done something to comfort him had his jaw not been sending violent rivets of pain through his face. As much as he respected the men who worked under Bryce's order, he did not accept the fact that Vandorn had taken his frustrations out on him physically. Though he felt deeply for the loss of a companion, Fergus knew deep down that he was doing the right thing. He sat quietly next to Corbin, keeping a safe distance from Vandorn and the undying wrath within him, and settled in for what would be the longest few hours of his life.


End file.
